


Observed in Regent's Park

by Tammany



Series: The Parks of London [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, turning point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 15:20:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15688098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tammany/pseuds/Tammany
Summary: This is small and sweet and fluffy and soft. It's also Mystrade with a rare Sherlolly element. I'm also adding it to my Parks series, as it begs to belong to that.Hope you like it, fluff though it may be.





	Observed in Regent's Park

“They’re so cute,” Molly said, as she rocked her new puppy in her arms. She looked across Regent’s Park to where two men stood together, one dressed in posh designer suit and accessories, the other in Marks and Spencer ready-to-wear. They spoke together quietly, heads leaning toward each other, while maintaining a pristine distance.

“They’re not,” Sherlock grumbled, frowning and looking away. He was lying, but it was necessary. He’d be sick in his mouth if he admitted his big brother and DI Lestrade were even acceptable in the same space-time-continuum, much less “cute.”

“Are so,” Molly said, smiling and sounding amused.

“It’s a business discussion,” Sherlock pronounced. “They work together sometimes.”

“You mean they babysit you. And John and Rosie, nowadays.”

“Nothing of the sort. They’re plotting the overthrow of foreign regimes.”

“You mean they’re taking down Trump?” Molly’s voice went from cheerful to excited. “Oh, good! Could they take down a domestic regime or two?”

“Who are you rooting for? Theresa May or Jeremy Corbyn?”

“Neither,” she snapped, brows scowling. Her fingers dug deep into her puppy’s ruff, and it whined softly.

“Oh, God. Tell me you’re not for Boris…”

“Ppppppht. Not hardly. No—we need someone new. If anyone can find us someone, it’s Mycroft and Greg. Between ‘em they’d pick someone worthwhile.”

“I don’t think either of them choose to meddle on quite that scale.”

“Pity. Still…” her eyes went dreamy and she smiled wistfully. “They’re awfully cute.”

Sherlock risked a glance, and sighed heavily. She was right. She usually was. It wasn’t anything overt. Even if they had not opted to keep their relationship a secret (or at least they thought it was a secret), they would not have been particularly demonstrative. They were both reserved men, in their own ways. They kept their distance. They didn’t touch, or make puppy-eyes at each other. And yet, it was all there to see for anyone who knew them well.

They moved in sync, Sherlock thought. Like two old draft horses in a field. One shifted his weight—the other moved subtly to reflect the shift. One leaned down to examine something—the other came along to see what his companion had found. If Greg bought a cup of coffee, he was sure to buy Mycroft a cup of tea at the same time, and when he handed it to Sherlock’s brother, something more than PG Tips passed between the two—something charged with respect and affection and trust.

“They’ve worked together a long time,” Sherlock murmured, as though dismissing Molly’s observations. “Before I ever met Lestrade. They’re…familiar with each other. That’s all.”

“Sherlock—I *see* things,” Molly said, simply. “You can’t lie to me about what I see.” She grinned. “They’re so adorable. Do you think they’ve done it, yet? Do they know it yet? Or is it all there, waiting to come together some night when they’re tired and lonely and bang! There it is, just ready to explode and set their hearts on fire?”

“Molly, you’re imagining things.”

She smiled, a wicked, sweet expression, and her eyes went a bit hazy. “Mmmm. Yeah, I am. Hot. I bet they’re hot together.”

“Molly!” Sherlock was shocked. But, then, Sherlock was really not very good with either sex or women.

Molly laughed at him. “Poor Sherlock. You really don’t understand it well, do you?”

Sherlock blushed and looked away, then said as excuse, “He’s my brother. Gross….”

She gave a quick, sudden laugh. “Oh, Sherlock… No. He’s a lovely man. I suspect a lot of people, men and women, have broken their hearts over him just a bit—all the reserve and the power, and behind it he’s really a cute little leprechaun.”

“He’s a six-foot-four lard-bucket.” Sherlock put on his best sulky, resentful face.

She laughed again. “Wrong. He’s quite well-kept, and he wears every inch of six-foot-four nicely. And when he smiles, he’s a cute little leprechaun.”

Sherlock snorted—but looked across the park.

“They haven’t yet,” he said, after a moment. “But…they will, soon. It’s there, like mist on the water, all around them. Isn’t it?” He asked sincerely. Molly could see things he couldn’t, and understood what she saw in ways alien to him.

She considered, her attention as fixed on the two men as his was. After a moment she smiled, tenderly. “Yes,” she said, her voice warm. “Soon.”

They were silent for a time, watching the two old draft horses, long accustomed to sharing a yoke, move together along the path, buried in their conversation. Sleeves brushed together. Their steps matched. When their eyes met, there was only understanding and contentment.

“I’ll have to tease them endlessly when it happens,” Sherlock said, after a moment, suddenly brusque and energized. “Come along, Moll. You’ve emptied the mutt’s bladder and run his legs off chasing sticks, and now he’s half asleep. Bring him on back to the flat and have dinner with us. John always makes enough spag bol for an entire brigade.”

She nodded, set the pup on the ground, gathering its leash, and together they walked southwest, toward Baker Street, the pup tugging this way and that, and Molly working to teach him better manners. Sherlock hovered, a tall tower beside her, eyes sweeping the park for threats, vigilant and prepared.

Across the park two men risked turning to watch.

“They’re cute together,” Greg said, amused.

“They’re nothing of the sort.”

“Yeah-yeah. You know they’re cute together.”

“Sherlock will never be ‘cute.’ First I thought he’d fall for John, but John proved too heteronormative for that to ever work beyond what they have now. Not that what they have now isn’t homoflexual as hell. Then I thought he was going to join John and Mary in a polite, discreet little threesome. But no…and then Mary died. Irene. Janine. I could have believed all of them. But Sherlock’s proven obdurate, and I doubt Miss Hooper is going to be his undoing.”

“He’s already undone,” Greg said, with a chuckle. “She’s grown a lot over the years, and she’s dragged him with her. Lookit ‘em. Like two old chums…”

Mycroft looked, eyes narrowing, studying the tall man hovering beside the short woman, never touching her—but cherishing her. He’d never expected Sherlock would grow enough to cherish Molly Hooper, or treat her well…

Things changed.

At last he smiled, his face lighting up with affection and mischief. “Oh, very well. They’re cute together. I surrender. They’re adorable. God help me.” He glanced at his old friend. “At least I can stop worrying about Sherlock, these days.”

“Good,” Greg said, voice suddenly a bit gruff. “Now you get to worry about yourself, you old hermit.”

Mycroft blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means if I have to I’ll set you up myself. You’re not made to live alone, Mike.”

Mycroft looked away. “Neither are you, DI Lestrade.”

“’S different. I had my chance. Blew it. But you—you’re due a first chance.” Lestrade turned, then, and stomped along toward the car that awaited them, ready to take them to dinner.

Mycroft was so thrown off he stood, frozen, watching Lestrade as he walked away. Something in his heart broke, then.

“Wait,” he called, and to his own surprise he broke into a steady lope, made graceful from long hours on the treadmill. “Wait…”

Lestrade turned back, his face sad and haunted, and without thinking Mycroft put a hand on his shoulder—and arm around his shoulder. He pulled the other man close. “You’re not alone,” he said, simply. “No matter what, you have me, old friend.”

And something changed.

As they walked away together, people watching smiled…and two girls disgusted their hetero-fixated boyfriends when they said, softly, “Oh! Aren’t they cute together? So in love… So sweet.”

One boy said, “They’re guys!”

The other said, “They’re OLD!”

And the girls just smiled at each other and nodded their certainty, as the two old draft horses trotted on their way, content in their shared yoke.


End file.
